


Come Back to Me

by InsertSthMeaningful



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - World War II, Amnesia, Angst, Charles Xavier is a Sweetheart, Erik Lehnsherr Defense Squad, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Letters, M/M, aftermath of war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: Charles goes to War, while Erik stays behind. And though the suffering of nations divides their love, Charles has sworn by his life and all that he holds dear to always find his way back to Erik – always.But when Charles vanishes in the Battle of Arras and is presumed missing in action, it is left to Erik to keep the promise Charles gave.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	Come Back to Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midrashic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midrashic/gifts).



> Written for the angst prompt “What would you do if I didn’t come back?” for [midrashic](https://midrashic.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and loosely inspired by the 2007 movie _Atonement_ (from which stems the title, too) and Sébastien Japrisot's novel _Un long dimanche de fiançailles_.  
> Yes, we disagreed about people feeding bread to seagulls in the 1940s, and I'm sure there are heaps of historical inaccuracies to be found in my plot, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless, mid 💛

A golden winter day hung high and loud over London – the last of its kind for a long, long time – and the stiff November breeze tugged at Erik’s collar with greedy fingers as he hurried down the road towards the river Thames.

It seemed as if all of London had decided to go out onto the streets today. Flocks of nurses, barely grown from children into women, clustered at street corners, hollering after Erik as he passed. Ladies with strollers at their hands or toddlers attached to their skirts ploughed through the masses on the sidewalk, side by side with harried businessmen and excitedly shouting soldiers, forming an almost impermeable wall of bodies, while side alleys and store fronts were piled high with sandbags, blinds were ready to be drawn, and heavy army vehicles towered over the smaller civilian cars on the street. And Erik-

Well, Erik was running late.

Weaving between the throngs of London’s inhabitants, fast and yet not fast enough, he tried in vain to rub the last of the factory smell from his hands. But the grey smudges of grease and the scent of hot metal clung fast and tight to his hair, his work apron, his foulard, following him in a cloud as he finally reached the waterside promenade of the Thames and shouldered his way through the throngs of people to the stone stairs leading down to the water. He took the steps two at a time, his heart beating painfully against its cage of flesh and bones.

The riverside lay lonesome and deserted, with only a few dried plane tree leaves dancing a hectic roundel in the wind.

Erik’s breath left his lungs with a painful whooshing sound. “Ach, verdammt-”

He had missed him. He had missed Charles.

His heart did a little painful sigh in his chest. This should have been their occasion to say goodbye – their last afternoon together, before Charles would join his company at the station and climb onto the train which would take him to the British Navy port, from which he would then ship out for France.

And now, Erik had missed him.

His hand shook when he ran it over his face, through his hair, not caring that it smeared grease all over his cheeks. All the pent-up frustration of the last few months, with Charles in military training and then drafted for the War – cause of his regular absence in Erik’s bed and in Erik’s arms – finally made the tears well up and spill over.

Then, out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of something – _someone_. Someone clothed in army green, with the buttons on his uniform polished until they flashed like fire in the golden afternoon light. He had been hidden behind a bend of the waterside promenade so far, and when Erik squinted and took a few steps towards him, the soldier waved.

Erik felt himself grow faint. His heartbeat picked up, invigorated by the sight in front of him.

Charles was in his uniform, its trousers and jacket neatly laundered and pressed for once. Erik would have needed a dozen hands on which to count how many times Charles had been reprimanded for his messy attire, according to his letters and then his live reports when he was on leave from military training. His dashing green beret, complete with a neatly polished cap badge, was perched at a daring angle on his auburn locks, and he had barely started towards Erik when a stiff breeze swept in and almost lifted it off his head.

Grinning the inconvenience away, Charles brought up a hand to hold onto it, gaze fixed all the while on Erik and Erik only. His steps, slow and measured at first, carried him faster and faster over the flagstones, resounding like sweet, sweet church bells on a lazy Sunday morning in Erik’s ears.

Then, Charles was by him, his momentum knocking the breath out of Erik’s lungs and his posture off-balance as he threw his arms around him and breathed, “Erik, you came!”

Erik shot Charles his best insulted look. “You’re not telling me you though I wouldn’t-”

His gruff reply was cut short by Charles pulling his head down and crashing their lips together in a slow, sweet, entirely-too-filthy-for-the-street kiss. Erik moaned, knees buckling as he both prayed for no one to see them and for the entire world to know that he, _he_ was the only one Charles would ever kiss so freely, so liberally, while meaning it with all his heart.

For mean it they both did. Of that, Erik was certain as he clutched at Charles’ broad shoulders for support, panted through his nose and let his jaw slacken, allowing Charles to plunder his mouth.

When they pulled back, out of breath and a good deal more dishevelled than they had been before, Charles looked up at him with his dark, dark pupils blown wide and said, “Well, I’ll certainly miss this.”

The sweet taste of their kiss immediately turned to bitter ash in Erik’s mouth. Without even so much as an attempt at veiling his dismay, he disengaged Charles’ arms around his waist and turned away to rifle through his pockets for that half-emptied cigarette pack he knew he still had somewhere.

“Erik…” Charles’ hand landed warm and heavy on Erik’s wrist as he lodged a fag between his lips and lit it, cupping it in his hands against the tearing wind.

Erik’s breath shuddered when he took a long, grating drag and shook off Charles’ grip. “What?” he growled, eyes blazing at nothing in particular as he stared across the shimmering Thames, the rooftops and wharfs of London and the flocks of seagulls circling overhead.

There was the faint, almost imperceptible sound of Charles licking his lips. Then, “Nothing. I just- You know I don’t like you smoking. Can’t stand the reek afterwards.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ll be around to smell it anymore after today, will you now?”

This time, Charles said nothing. After a few seconds of cutting silence, Erik turned back around and cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.

Charles’ fingers were pale and sweaty where they were kneading his beret, and his lower lip was bitten to a vibrant poppy-red, almost bloody. The perfect blue of his eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he flicked his gaze up to meet Erik’s.

Then, fast as a seagull striking, he reached up and pulled the cigarette from between Erik’s fingers, lifting it to his own lips and taking a deep, desperate drag. Erik just watched him choke, then cough, before he pilfered his fag back.

“Whatever did you do that for?” he murmured when Charles’ eyes had stopped watering. “I thought you didn’t like the taste of cigarettes.”

Charles’ smile, a delicate, elusive thing, aimed straight for his heart and found its mark. “Not since they’re kiss-flavoured.”

For a few seconds, all Erik could do was stand and stare. Charles just kept on grinning, that boyish, slightly over-wide splitting of the lips which, he had once told Erik, had earned him many a slap on his ears when his mother had deemed it too ostentatious, too outlandish.

It only fell away when Erik cursed, threw his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his heels, pretending like his eyes weren’t growing moist again. “Gottverdammt, Charles-”

“Erik, love-” Charles frowned and reached to pull Erik closer by the waist, but Erik stepped back just in time. It brought a pout to Charles’ face. “Now, Erik, there’s really no need to make this any harder on us both than it already is.”

It took a good few seconds for Erik to clear his throat and shake his head. His eyes felt heavy – too heavy to look up and meet Charles’, so he resorted to studying the pavement beneath their feet instead as he asked, in starts and stops, “Do you- And you’re sure you have everything? The sewing kit my mother gave you? Are your shoes shined? And that copy of _The Sword in the Stone_ , if you don’t want to take it with you into the trenches-”

“I have everything, Erik. Everything.” When Charles took Erik’s hands in his this time, Erik didn’t have the heart to pull away. “I have everything – except you.”

Erik hated how his voice broke on the final notes as he pressed out, “Charles, no-”

“But I will be alright, I promise. Everything will be over in the blink of an eye – this War can hardly last more than a few months after all – and I will come back on vacation as soon as I’m allowed to, yes?” Though the hurried words sounded more like a plea, the warm pressure of Charles’ fingers around Erik’s was a reassurance. “And then you’ll be able to complain about the little cuts and tears in my uniform all you want, darling, and- Oh, and the _mud_ , my boots will be terribly muddy, and you’ll spend a whole night reprimanding me for not knowing how to take care of my shoes.”

Erik didn’t echo Charles’ forced chuckle. He couldn’t. Instead, he nodded and whispered coarsely, “Not a whole night. Just the evening.”

“Just the evening, then,” Charles confirmed, a knowing smirk sweetening his voice. “We have more important things to attend to during the night, don’t we, dear?”

At last, Erik found it in himself to look up and smile back. “I see, you’re not even deployed yet and you already can’t wait for your first vacation.”

“Anyone who has ever had you would wish to hurry back into your arms as soon as possible, love.”

Erik did nothing to hide his disdain of that remark, and Charles laughed uncaringly as he dodged a sharp elbow aimed at his ribs, then dove in fast and pulled Erik close, his chest against Erik’s back, effectively hindering any future attacks. A rustle filled the brisk air as he reached into his pocket and drew out a brown paper bag. Erik took it without much of a thought, frowning when he looked inside and found himself faced with bits of stale bread.

“I have a friend in the kitchen. He was so glad as to sneak me some left-overs,” Charles explained, nosing at the nape of Erik’s neck. “When I was little and we would go for vacations at the sea, my father and I… We would feed the birds. Pigeons, sparrows, seagulls, ducks, what you want. It never failed to amuse.”

Even as he reached inside the bag and fished for some of the morsels, Erik cocked an eyebrow. “This is a waste of food. Mama would be appalled.”

Charles snatched a crumb and threw it to a seagull flying by, his smile growing with delight as the bird swooped in low and caught it artfully. He didn’t look at Erik when he answered, “Feeding seagulls is one of the brightest memories I retain of my father from before he died. I just wish for us to create something which will sustain us just as much during our time apart.”

Erik said no more after that. Instead, he stood still and watched as Charles hailed seagulls from all over and made them fly the most curious manoeuvres in pursuit of the bread he threw to them. Around his waist, Charles’ arm lay, heavy and secure, and through the layers of clothing separating them, Erik could feel Charles’ heartbeat against his back.

Gently, Erik rested his hand over Charles’ on his belly and leaned backwards into the touch.

In the far distance, the clocks of Big Ben tolled a full hour. The sun was speeding through the sky faster than Erik liked, the shadows stretching, the warmth of day fading. Dread, cold and bottomless, settled in the pit of his stomach as he thought of the moment Charles would have to part from him for good.

Then, that moment came.

The pigeons and sparrows besieging them held Charles’ attention no more as he checked his pocket watch – once his father’s, one of the few things which remained of the life he had led as an honourable member of the Xavier family – and sighed. “Well…”

Erik said nothing, tightening his grip on Charles’ hand before he could stop himself.

Charles’ breath ghosted warm as sunlight over the nape of his neck as he muttered, “I just wish we’d had more time.”

“But we do,” Erik answered, maybe a little bit too harshly. “You will come back. This war can’t last more than a few months – you said it yourself. And if you don’t return, I’ll… I’ll never forgive you.”

Charles hummed. “Of course you won’t. And I swear by my life and all that I hold dear that I will always find my way back to you - always.” And there, he pulled Erik closer, impossibly close to his body, and began to rock them both gently to and fro. “But, Erik…”

 _But, Erik_. He didn’t want to hear it. They deserved hope, didn’t they? They deserved not to be reminded of the sword of Damocles hanging over their necks every minute every day of their lives, didn’t they?

This once, just this once, they deserved to be happy, to be left in peace despite all the hatred and fear society held for their kind, their _love_.

Didn’t they?

Erik breathed out slowly and turned his head to look at Charles. “What?”

Charles didn’t smile when he stared up at Erik, measuring him with a serious gaze from his blue, blue eyes. In his neatly pressed uniform, with its buttons polished to a shine and his hair combed back smartly behind his ears, he looked so, so young. So heartbreakingly, hopefully young.

His tongue darted out to wet his poppy-red lips, before he asked, “What would you do if I didn’t come back?”

Erik shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“If I, against all odds-” Charles breathed out like the words pained him, frowning lightly now- “If I should not return, because I am… because I go missing, or- What would you do?”

Erik’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, and still all he could do was shake his head, over and over again. “No,” he ground out, “no.” _Out of the question._

Just as Charles opened his mouth to renew the question a third, brutal time, a close church bell tolled a quarter of an hour.

“Well, but I have to run.” Charles’ eyes flicked down to their hands, still interlinked, with that nervous blush Erik knew so well flaming up on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “If I don’t catch this bus, I’ll miss the train-”

 _Then miss it_ , Erik wanted to say. _Stay. Stay here with me and never look back. Stay, please._ But all he could do was lean in for one last, fleeting kiss.

Charles’ lips, soft and responsive, tasted of sunlight and fear. When they pulled apart, they barely widened into a smile.

“Accompany me to the bus stop,” was all he said in that poshly accented, sonorous voice of his, and Erik had to follow as Charles pulled him to the stairs and up the well-trodden stone steps towards the bustling masses of pedestrians flowing through London. Between the press of the bodies, they had hardly reason to let go of each other’s hands, and so they remained gripping each other tightly until they were nearly at the trolleybus ready and waiting by the kerbstone.

At last, Charles slipped his fingers from Erik’s grasp and leaped onto the landing of the bus, holding on tightly to a handhold even as he twisted back around and sought out Erik’s eyes in the ever-moving mass of people on the sidewalk. And just in time – the motor started up, and the bus pulled away onto the street.

People pushed past Erik and landed their elbows in his ribs, but he didn’t care. All he could see was Charles pulling his beret from his head and attempting a smile as he waved it in goodbye, and all he could feel was this terrible sense of dread, of finality – the fear that this would be the last sight he could ever remember Charles by.

He did not know what made him do it. Intuition, maybe, or just the sheer overpowering insanity of loss. But with a start, Erik found himself stepping onto the street, weaving between honking cars and pursuing the bus with his down-trodden shoes hammering madly against the tar. Charles, though long out of hearing distance, watched him with widening, astounded eyes. He lowered his hand holding his cap.

“Charles!” There was no breath left in Erik’s lungs for him to spend on shouting, but he did it anyway. The cool breeze was bringing tears to his eyes. “Charles! Come back to me!” The bus was rapidly approaching a corner. “Charles! I _love you_!”

And even though he could not possibly hear it, not between the chatter of the people and the roaring of motors, Erik watched as understanding dawned on Charles’ face.

Then, the bus vanished around the bend, and Charles with it.

Curling over to catch his breath in the middle of a busy street, freezing in the dying light of day and being honked at from all sides, Erik stood staring and panting. The memory of this last sunny autumn day was already starting to fade, colouring sepia like a well-loved photograph.

And as he turned to begin the long walk back to the factory, Erik pressed his hand to the gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been, and prayed for its twin to fare well, wherever the War would take it.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and especially comments will be dearly appreciated!


End file.
